Whatever You Want, Whatever You Need
by A Pleasant Reader
Summary: ME2 Practically being a zombie isn't great for your mental health, you have to have someone to lean on, someone to confide in. It's even worse when the fate of the galaxy's resting on your shoulders. FShep x Joker
1. Prologue

_General Disclaimer: I don't own Mass Effect._

* * *

"Shit. Not another one of you." Joker hit the lights, illuminating the admittedly sexy woman in a catsuit that was lounging on his sofa. He hobbled to his fridge instead of acknowledging her further and retrieved a six-pack of beer.

"Mr. Moreau, I am—"

"You think I don't know the insignia by now?" Joker sneered. He just wanted to sit and get drunk like every other night. "Look lady, the paperwork involved in getting the other two arrested was hell, so if you leave right now I'll leave Cerberus out of the breaking and entering report." He plopped down in his armchair, dropping his crutches, and groaning while he opened his first beer. His legs were killing him today. He looked up to see the Cerberus agent glaring at him, probably for his casual treatment of the intrusion; he smirked as he took a long drink and her glare intensified.

"I am Dr. Miranda Lawson, Head of the Lazarus Project, and I am about as happy to be here as you are to have me here. Unfortunately, despite providing him with several comparable alternatives, my employer is insistent that you are the only pilot he will accept. He is putting together a team for a very important mission of galactic significance. I am prepared to offer you—"

"Lady. I don't care. The others already offered me a piloting job and ungodly amounts of money, and, while sending a hooker to make the pitch is a creative idea, I'm still not going to work for terrorists." His visitor had jumped to her feet at the hooker comment and looked positively enraged. He chuckled and thumbed his comm. "You missed your chance, lady…Yeah, I need C-Sec in—" Suddenly, the whole communicator apparatus was painfully wrenched off his ear and sent flying across the room in blue blur. The lady in the white catsuit was apparently a biotic.

"I don't have time for this! There is actual work that needs seeing to. Mr. Moreau, if you value your life, you will shut your insubordinate mouth and listen to me."

Joker's face darkened considerably, and his affected nonchalance was replaced with anger and a certain amount of sadness, "And if I don't value my life?"

"Then you did an excellent job of fooling your Alliance therapist into thinking that you were more interested in atoning for your mistake than killing yourself," she replied coolly.

So, the witch had access to confidential Alliance files. He supposed that was only to be expected of an evil galactic terrorist organization. Frowning, he stayed silent and glared at the Cerberus woman.

"You are one the best human pilots in the galaxy, despite suffering from Type III Osteogenesis imperfecta. You hold many Alliance records, and you were part of Commander Shepard's crew during her mission to stop the rogue Spectre Saren. The Alliance grounded you, officially because of suspicions about your mental state, but mostly because disobeying the abandon ship order and causing Shepard's death blacklisted you." Joker flinched, trying to hide the pain that came from hearing the source of his constant torture spoken so matter-of-factly. Miranda noted but ignored the reaction, "We, on the other hand, want you to fly a state-of-the-art ship, and we are offering more than competitive pay. My position on the Lazarus Project allows me to also offer you a recently developed bone-strengthening procedure that will combat the effects of brittle bone disease. You could walk, Mr. Moreau, completely unaided—certainly more than the therapy guaranteed by the Alliance health benefits package has done for you."

Joker's patented leave-me-the-hell-alone glare was gradually lost to him, replaced by open-mouthed astonishment and a vague longing. To walk? To never use his crutches again? He closed his eyes, imagining it, but, as usual, his horribly vivid last memory of Shepard appeared on the back of eyelids instead of peaceful blackness or fantasies of walking.

Total silence as she floated away. The hose venting her precious air. The spasms. His tears. Watching that speck for hours. Alone.

He angrily blinked away the ghosts of the tears from almost two years ago, and focused his anger on the Cerberus agent. "My answer, lady, is still _hell_ no. If you know all that shit about me, you should also know that _no one_ from Shepard's crew is going to work for the organization she tried to take out! Most of the Alliance may be idiots, but at least they don't throw thresher maws at unsuspecting marines or shoot Admirals up with rachni acid. She counted you among the bad guys, and I kinda agree."

He folded his arms and leaned back, showing a defiant face. She had taken his comm unit, and he had no gun on him; even if he did, he wouldn't stand a chance against a biotic like her. Joker knew his carefully cultivated snark and a dash of bravado couldn't get him out of this one, but he _would not_ betray Shepard. Oh, and he wasn't keen on being a bad guy either. But, most importantly, he would not betray Shepard's memory or her ideals, even to save his own life.

Miranda watched his performance—because that's exactly what it was—carefully. The stubborn, sarcastic, unfortunately _noble_ moron wouldn't be swayed by money or any traditional form of bribery. It was no wonder that the others agents got themselves arrested. "I'm authorized to give you whatever you want in return for accepting this job," she probed.

"I told you! Nothing you can do will make me join Shepard's enemies." His eyes flashed, and Miranda had an idea. It was risky—a potential security breach. But, she smiled, if it didn't work, she could always shoot the bastard.

"Nothing, hm? Tell me, _Joker_, are you familiar with the story of Lazarus?"

~*v*~

Joker was on Lazarus station, again, standing at the window into Shepard's operating room. He had flown a few supply runs from various places to the top-secret facility in the past few weeks—all easy shuttle runs so far. Anyone with half a brain could've flown them. He hadn't been anywhere near the top-of-the-line ship Miranda had promised him a couple of months ago, but he didn't really care. Even walking didn't compare to getting to see Shepard again. Commander Shepard—with a beating heart, and a working brain. (At least, he was pretty sure that was the wiggling lines on the monitor hooked up to her head meant.) It was almost like he _hadn't_ gotten the biggest hero in the galaxy killed. Almost.

He pressed his hand to the glass and whispered, "When you wake up, Commander, you're going to be pissed as hell. But, it'll be alright. I'll do whatever you need to make it alright. You deserve it. And I will never make up for what I did to you, but I'll try, Shepard, I'll try.

Joker tugged his cap down over his eyes, and limped away. He saw a scientist coming down the next corridor. "Hey you! Yeah, you, the squinty terrorist dude. Where's your queen-in-a-catsuit? I need my new flight orders."


	2. Things Fall Apart

_Disclaimer: The dialogue you recognize is probably not mine._

* * *

"Two things before you go—" Alison Shepard gritted her teeth as the Illusive Man continued his long-winded, condescending spiel, and dredged up the last of her self-control. "First, head to Omega and find Mordin Solus. He's a brilliant salarian scientist. Our intelligence suggests that he may know how to counteract the Collector's paralyzing seeker swarms."

Alison managed to keep from rolling her eyes as mysterious well-dressed man continued to confidently dictate what she should do. She felt a little offended that he apparently thought that she wouldn't notice his exaggeration of the truth. No matter how brilliant, this scientist couldn't already know how to counteract something that she had just discovered a couple hours ago. But that was the least of her problems right now—she clenched her teeth tighter, trying not to snap back that he had no right to order her around. Alison was fighting hard now to keep her infamous temper reined in because, even in her exhausted state, she realized that it would be tactically unsound to piss off one of the very few people who knew Alison Shepard was, in fact, alive (again). She was still uncomfortably well within his reach if he decided that she was too much of a liability.

So, with a great force of will, Alison returned her attention to self-proclaimed ally. "Second, I've found a pilot I think you might like. I hear he's one of the best." She narrowed her eyes at the projection, his sudden casualness setting off manipulation alarms in her head. What could his angle be now? "Someone you can trust." Alison raised one eyebrow in disbelief at the idea and then promptly scowled as the projection began to fade. She scoffed at the now empty room. What was it with evil overlords and having the last word?

Alison heard a throat clear behind her, and, then, "Hey Commander. Just like old times, huh?"

She froze. Could it be…? Alison carefully turned around to look and saw a sheepish-looking man under a familiar baseball cap. "Joker!" she gleefully shouted in greeting, her face relaxing into a happy grin. Unfortunately for her, the rest of her body and her supposedly ironclad self-control relaxed at the sight of him too, so, when she started to walk, exhaustion and a multitude of emotions bowled her over. Joker started to move to help her when she staggered, but she regained her balance on her own. Embarrassed nonetheless, Alison stared at the floor a moment before she met his eyes. He looked worried, she noted, and hesitant. She needed a hug and a good cry more than anything else right (Although she wouldn't say no to some chocolate or ice cream.), and here was Joker. They were close on the Normandy; she thought they were friends, at least. She gulped before squeaking out, a mite too desperately for her own comfort, "Joker? I…Can I…be a girl for a few moments?"

He cocked his head to one side, obviously puzzled by her strange request. Alison had began to rethink her question, quickly approaching the conclusion that it was entirely inappropriate and totally out of line, when Joker nodded once and said, "Of course, Shepard. Whatever you need."

The instant he answered, Alison forgot her developing conclusions and flew at him. She stopped fighting the emotions that were threatening to overwhelm her defenses and clung to the shocked pilot. She was already sobbing into his shoulder when she felt him return the embrace. His arms wrapped around her, hesitantly at first but then securing her tightly against him, as if he was just afraid of her being swept away as she was. She smiled a little through her tears; for the first time since she "woke up," she didn't feel like she had to be on high alert—constantly scanning her surroundings for enemies and threats. Joker would watch out for her while she sorted things out in her head. The initial wave of tears had already run itself out; Alison was in that awkward hiccupping and sniffling stage now. She tried to remember the last time she had let another person see her crying, and she ended up back at Mindoir when the Alliance soldier gently told her that she couldn't be such a girl when enemies were around—that a good soldier was tough and never showed weakness. Since then, she'd always kept her tears private, striving to be the perfect Alliance soldier, commanding the respect of officers years older than her for her cool head and perfect professionalism (Since it was usually justified, they tended to ignore her temper). She mentally scoffed at the marine from Mindoir now; Alison would like to see her remain so stoic and tough after being brought back from the dead by galactic xenophobic terrorists.

Alison felt Joker loosening his hold on her, so she reluctantly relinquished her hold on him, awkwardly mumbling out, "Thanks. Uh, you give really good hugs."

Joker's mouth quirked into a brief grin, before returning to an un-Joker-like seriousness. He brushed the hair out of her tearstained face, and she watched his expression change briefly. Before she could even wonder what that fleeting emotion was, he asked, "Do you want to talk about it?"

She seriously considered his question, as she used her sleeve to wipe at her eyes and cheeks. "There's not much to talk about. I was just…" She paused, searching for a word to describe the hurricane of thoughts and emotions that caused her breakdown, "…overwhelmed, I guess."

"About the whole zombie/undead thing?"

Alison chuckled. There was the Joker she knew. "Well, yeah, basically. And it's just been one thing after another and I haven't had time to process things, you know?" He nodded attentively, seeming genuinely interested in what she was saying, so she decided to vent. "First, when I wake up, I'm under attack from cheap geth knock-offs. Then, as if that wasn't enough stress, I get quizzed and tested like a lab rat the whole way to here. Freedom's Progress was plain _creepy_ and seeing Tali there—it actually hit me that it's been two…freaking…years." She could still barely believe it. "The galaxy went on without me. My friends went on without me. And I really wanted to break down then, but there were those damned mechs shooting at us, and I couldn't. And the whole time there's been no one but the ice queen, her minion, and now that jackass to talk to." She finished, jerking her thumb over her shoulder to indicate exactly which jackass she was referring to.

Joker put a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Hey," he started. "Yeah, you've got two years of galactic news to catch up on, but it won't be too hard. With you gone, galactic politics slowed down considerably. And anything important, like the Reaper situation, hasn't changed at all. As to your friends," he paused, choosing his words, "anyone worth your time won't care that you've been…out of commission. They're just spread out a little more. And you know what, I bet all this shit will seem a lot more doable after a meal and some sleep. When was the last time you ate?"

"Uh…does a protein shake count? 'Cause I had one of those on the trip to Freedom's Progress."

"No, Commander. Gooey mystery liquid does not count." Joker answered matter-of-factly, rolling his eyes at her apparent ignorance of the obvious.

"Then," she sighed, "I guess it's been some two years…"Alison felt bad for answering his attempt at levity with a return to the "zombie/undead thing," but there's only so many ways to answer a question.

"Huh." Joker ground out before using his hand on her shoulder to guide her out of the room. He looked askance at her. "I kinda thought Her Icy Highness would take better care of her boss's 'investment.' Ah well, to the Mess, we go."

~*v*~

"I still can't believe it's you, Joker." They were seated across from each other in a thankfully deserted cafeteria, chatting over meatloaf and mashed potatoes, or at least something that looked like it.

"Me? I saw you get spaced. You're the unbelievable miracle here, Shepard, not me."

She looked up at him, narrowing her eyes at his once again indecipherable tone. She never had such a problem reading him before she died… "Cerberus and miracles do not belong in same conversation." She bitterly stabbed at the meatloaf left on her plate. "I just got lucky with a lot of strings attached. How'd you end up with them, anyway?"

Joker let his fork fall and sighed before answering, "It all fell apart without you, Commander." Alison looked up at that with sad eyes. The words reminded her of something, but she couldn't put a finger on it. "Everything you stirred up, the Council just wanted it all gone. Team was broken up, records sealed, and I was grounded. The Alliance took away the only thing I had left. Hell yeah I joined Cerberus."

She considered the reversal he just described—the Council and the Alliance, the good guys, doing nothing right, while the bad guys picked up the slack. Abruptly she remembered what she was reminded of earlier, a poem she had memorized in school years ago. Sighing, she let silence fall as she went through the poem in her head. Staring at a point far beyond the walls, Alison began to recite in a tight voice, "Turning and turning in the widening gyre, the falcon cannot hear the falconer; things fall apart; the center cannot hold; mere anarchy is loosed upon the world, the blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere the ceremony of innocence is drowned; the best lack all conviction, while the worst are full of passionate intensity."

"So…never thought I'd hear you spouting shi—err, stuff like that. What _was_ that?" Alison abruptly came back to herself and looked at her dinner partner.

"A poem from a book I read in school about colonization and clashing cultures; it appealed to me at the time, being a colonist myself. Later, the poem seemed to describe the attack on Mindoir. And, now, it seems perfectly relevant again. The Council lacks conviction and Cerberus is full of intensity…" she trailed off, letting the rest of the thought—_all because I died and let things fall apart_—stay in her head.

Joker was looking intently at her while she mused upon things unknown to him, and he wondered at her regretful tone. Where he had expected to see fire and brimstone, he saw defeat and depression. It worried him. "So…" He cast about for something witty that would cheer her up. "Elcor _Hamlet_ did so well that the company decided to try a classic Earth musical. You missed the opening of Elcor _West Side Story_. I hear they paid homage to the original choreography."

Commander Shepard was shocked into laughing, and, then, she proceeded to choke on her potatoes.

~*v*~

"You really trust the Illusive Man?" Alison mentally filed away the need for a nickname—one more specific than "the jackass."

Joker glanced back, and smirked, "Hell, I don't trust anyone who makes more than I do. But they aren't all bad—just mostly. I mean, they saved your life. Fixed my legs. Let me fly." He had led her to a viewport in a, as far as she could tell, nondescript hallway. "And then there's this." He said, gesturing dramatically out the viewport. She was straining to see what he was talking about when the lights in the hanger began to come on. "They only told me last night."

Alison gasped at the ship that was being revealed to her section by section. It almost like the Normandy, except it was huge! She turned to look at Joker, thinking that he probably had a hand in planning this over-the-top reveal, but he was looking at the ship. She smiled. His expression was so happy, like a kid in a candy store. He turned and caught her looking. She flinched, embarrassed, but he just said, "It's good to home, huh, Commander?"

She supposed that the Normandy was as close to home as she got, but this wasn't her. Looking back at the ship, she noticed there was no name painted on the hull—just the designation, SR-2. "I guess we'll have to give her a name."

"Yep. She's your ship. Wouldn't have been right for anyone else to name her."

"I reckon a ship belongs to her pilot, too, don't you think?" Alison asked, hoping for input. Unfortunately, Joker was uncharacteristically silent. She sighed. "Is there any taboo about naming a ship after one that went down?"

Joker chuckled, "Even if there was, you're Commander Shepard; you can do whatever you want."

"Then, I think we're decided. This is the Normandy SR-2." After a brief consideration, she tacked on, "Also known as…home."


	3. Survivors' Guilt

The ship was finally finished. Alison had had it with all the techs scurrying around, trying to get the new Normandy finished ahead of schedule—the schedule Wilson had disrupted when he decided the Lazarus Station would look better with a few bullet holes. Granted, it was only a few scheduled days that they had to condense into one, but everyone working on the vessel was exceedingly cranky. She had offered to help, but was firmly turned down, along with Joker, each time. Finally, the Cerberus techs had finished painting her name on the hull, wiring the computers, stocking the mess and med bay and whatever else the scurrying engineers had been doing.

However, she was being forced to wait on a properly pompous tour, and the touchy VI wouldn't open the airlock for her. Commander Alison Shepard, Human Spectre, Savior of the Citadel, was reduced to tapping her foot outside an airlock like an impatient child. She was contemplating hacking her way into her own ship—which would be terribly ironic—when the Ice Queen and the minion rounded the corner.

"Commander Shepard. We've been looking everywhere for you. I was hoping that you'd be ready to have your official tour of the new Normandy." Miranda greeted smoothly. Not allowing Alison to snap back her sarcastic reply, Miranda turned to the door and announced, "Miranda Lawson, requesting permission to come aboard."

Despite her impatience to get onboard, Alison half wished that the VI would give Miranda the same 'you are not authorized' that it gave her; after all, she was supposed to be the commanding officer, not Her Icy Highness. Ignoring her sulky half-wishes, the crisp female voice of the VI gave Miranda a different response: "Welcome aboard Officer Lawson, Operative Taylor, Commander Shepard."

Pouting at the injustice, Alison stepped into a very familiar vestibule where a decontaminating laser washed over the three before the inner doors opened onto a sparkling deck. For a very brief moment, Alison actually thought she was on the Normandy—the first Normandy. Of course, she immediately began noticing small discrepancies, but was prevented from examining anything further when Miranda and Jacob swept out of the airlock.

She was only a half step behind them, as they walked down a deck she assumed to be the CIC. Well, _she_ walked; Miranda and Jacob paraded themselves down the catwalk like corridor. She was trying to contain her laughter at the resultant mental image of Jacob in an emerald green evening gown strutting down a runway for fashion gurus of all species, when he spoke up, "Welcome aboard the new Normandy, Commander."

Getting her mental hijinks under control and slipping into her command mode, the Commander managed a distracted nod in response. Miranda stopped in front of the holographic ship. Shepard stopped as well, thinking that the tour was about to start. However, Miranda started in about the dossiers that the Illusive Man had forwarded, "I'd strongly recommend starting by acquiring Mordin Solus, the salarian professor on Omega. We know the Collectors use some kind of advanced technology to immobilize their victims. We'll need him to develop a countermeasure to protect us."

Shepard blinked at her XO's statement of the obvious. Since Miranda seemed to be waiting for a reply, she diplomatically murmured, "Without that countermeasure, we'll be helpless if we ever run into the Collectors." She mentally added the sentiment that everyone here already knows that.

"Acquiring Professor Solus seems like the most logical place to start," the crisp, cool voice from earlier interrupted. Shepard turned to look at the apparent source, confused at the VI's behavior.

"Who are you?" she asked the strange globular avatar, with a bad feeling beginning in the pit of her stomach. Surely, Cerberus wouldn't—

"I am the Normandy's artificial intelligence. The crew likes to refer to me as EDI."

Apparently, they would; Shepard sighed as she reached up to pinch the start of a headache in between her eyes. "Helmsmen aren't happy when someone takes control of a ship away from them. Especially Joker," she said, trying not to think of what Tali would be saying if the precocious quarian _had_ dropped everything and joined Shepard. An AI? There are reasons that they're illegal…

"I do not helm the ship. Mr. Moreau's," Alison blinked at the strangeness of the name, "talents will not go to waste. During combat, I operate the electronic warfare and cyberwarfare suites. Beyond that, I cannot interface with the ships systems. I observe and offer analysis and advice. Nothing more."

Shepard mulled this over. It—she—sounded useful, and Shepard couldn't think of how to eliminate the threat now that she was sentient. She supposed she had to trust Cerberus to have put fail-safes in place. Wait, trusting Cerberus? What was she thinking? She rubbed harder at the growing headache. She had to let it be. "So I'm guessing it takes more than just the four—five of us," she amended glancing at the avatar, "to fly this ship."

"The Normandy has a full crew. They're at their stations awaiting your orders." Shepard raised her eyebrows at Miranda's response and purposefully glanced around at the empty stations in the CIC. In doing so, she made eye contact with her pilot.

He grinned widely at her from his place in the cockpit. "Final preparations for takeoff are complete, Commander. When you're ready to go, just pick a destination, and I'll plot a course."

She smiled at his obvious appreciation of the new ship, before turning to listen to Miranda as she dismissed herself and Jacob. "Jacob and I should return to our posts. Come and find us if you have any questions."

Shepard couldn't help showing her frustration as the two Cerberus agents walked off. This was the tour she was forced to wait on? She studied the orange projection in front of her, working out her own tour. "EDI, do you have a terminal on every deck?" Shepard directed the question toward the space where the avatar had been earlier.

"Yes, Commander. I have at least one terminal in every room. If you are intending to tour the ship now, I would be happy to assist you."

Shepard smiled again. Since the Cerberus AI was well on her way to being more agreeable than any of her human counterparts, maybe she could forgive the AI for locking her out earlier and potentially going rogue in the future.

~*v*~

"Can you believe this, Commander?" Joker preempted her greeting as she approached the cockpit, the second to last stop on her self-guided tour. "It's my baby, better than new! It fits me like a glove! And leather seats! The military may set the hardware standard, but on a first-gen frigate they couldn't care less if the seats breathe. Civilian sector comfort by design." He beamed up at her, reveling in the newness. But his peculiar word choice did not escape her; no pilot calls a ship that he truly appreciates an it. She thought she understood the omission, though. Everything she had seen so far on her tour, from the drive core to the layout of the crew deck, reminded her that the real Normandy was gone.

"The reproduction is not intended to be perfect. Mr. Moreau. Seamless improvements were made." EDI's avatar appeared on a platform slightly behind the pilot's chair. Momentarily distracted, Alison frowned—she had been considering sitting there, since there seemed to be a lack of actual seats close enough for conversation.

"And there's the downside. I liked the Normandy when she was beautiful and quiet. Now, she's got this thing I don't want to talk about. It's like ship cancer." Joker glared at the blue ball, while Alison slumped onto the weird railing opposite the avatar.

"It's not the same, Joker. There's nothing here that was even part of the real Normandy," Alison unhappily pointed out, after she had recovered from nearly slipping off the low, sloping rail. She wanted to appreciate the improvements, but she couldn't shake the feeling that she cheating on the SR-1 in some twisted version of adultery. The Cerberus logos splashed on every flat surface didn't help her guilty feeling, either. She sighed. First, she feels guilty for dying, and, now, she feels guilty for cheating on a freaking spaceship.

"There's us," Joker offered. She looked into his suddenly very serious, haunted green eyes. He hesitated, and she held his gaze waiting for the rest. He continued softly, "I have to take what I can get. The last two years sucked."

Her face fell. _I died, and it all fell apart_, she thought, again. "I'm so sorry, Joker, I—"

"No, don't worry about it. Not your fault." He interrupted her apology. "I'm just saying, even if an AI is spying on us, there's no way they'll invest this much just to screw us over. It'll be better than the old days, even." He smirked reassuringly at her.

She carefully smiled back, "I hope so. Last time, I died," she quipped.

Joker flinched almost as hard as if she had physically hit him. His smirk turned into a frown as he swung his chair back to the front. "Gah, you're such a downer," he choked out as if he didn't think she would notice anything different in his voice.

Abruptly Alison realized what was bothering the pilot, and kicked herself that she hadn't realized before. She forcibly turned the chair back around. "Oh, no you don't. Look at me," she ordered. When his green eyes reluctantly met hers, she continued, "That was not intended to hurt you. I was _trying_ to be funny. It didn't even occur to me that—you," she gulped, "you blame yourself for my death, don't you?" She continued looking into his stricken eyes as she searched for the words that would help. "The only person you can blame is the guy that shot that beam weapon thing. You can learn from…the event…but you are no more to blame for it than I am, for not going fast enough, or Kaidan is, for arguing with me for too long, or the crew member that yelled at Pressly causing me to have to write the report that caused me to be on the crew deck instead of the CIC. Got it?" She stared hard at him until he nodded. "I need you to be okay, Joker," she pleaded, "I have to fight the Collectors, defeat the Reapers, and, if I have any spare time, deal with being a damned cybernetic zombie. I need a friend, Joker, please. I don't want you to be here just because you think you owe me something—because you don't."

Joker smiled, not because he was magically over his guilt (Although, he would think about what she said and try to stop blaming himself.). He smiled because he saw the Shepard he knew on the old Normandy—the one with fire in her eyes and steel in her voice. "Friends, then," he said.

She smiled, relieved. "Good. Then…I should go. I haven't been up to my quarters yet," she jerked a thumb over her shoulder and turned to go. After a few steps, she turned back to find him still looking at her. "Oh, and set a course for the Citadel. I want to talk to the Council."

"Aye aye, Commander."


End file.
